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My new tattoo.
“Dax…” A smile stretches across my face as I study the delicate design.
He’s drawn the outline of a cloud, and inside, the wordSilverin beautiful, fancy script.
“You gave me my own silver lining.” I blink and swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Youare the silver lining.” He comes to stand next to me, his eyes fixed on mine, his voice serious. “It’s always been you. Look at this if you ever need reminding.”
I nod, pressing my lips together as my eyes mist over. I won’t cry, even though my chest is burning with emotion. I never cry. My ability to disappeared after Brett’s accident. I used to think it was because I didn’t deserve to cry. Why should I do something that might cause people to show me sympathy when I deserved none?
I need to forgive myself and move on, and I intend to, I really do. I’m in a much better place since coming to England. Yet somehow, I still can’t give myself that. I can’t give myself tears.
Not yet.
Dax stands next to me, close enough for his warm body to provide a comfort to me, that only he can, but also with enough space for me to take in this moment for myself. Take it in and understand how much it means.
“I know you’ll still have days when you think the world only sees your worst. But I’ll always see your best. Always.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror and emotion overpowers me, making me turn to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face into his chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
He strokes my hair, holding me as I sink into his strength, his calmness, his love. Because although he hasn’t said it—even though I thought he was about to say it at the campfire a couple of nights ago—I know he does.
I mean, Ipraythat he does.
Because if I love him as hard as this, where I feel like I would splinter into a million pieces if this were to ever end between us, then he must feel something too.
Hemust.
I breathe in his scent, content to stay wrapped in his arms for longer. He’s been distracted since the campfire. Quieter. More serious, even for Dax. And he’s not mentioned anything else about what he needs to do. What this big thing is that he needs to sort out.
I don’t want to doubt him. I trust that he’ll do it, whatever it is. Because he’s always kept his word.
But the gnawing sensation in my gut tells me it isn’t that easy.
Whatever Dax has been keeping to himself, it’s big.
What if he can’t walk away easily? What if it’s not up to him? What if he’s in too deep? Or in trouble?
I tighten my arms around him, and he runs one hand up and down my back.
“You’ll need a dressing on it for a few hours,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Okay.” I squeeze him one more time and he extracts himself from my arms and goes over to the counter to get a sterile covering, keeping his back to me. “Why are you avoiding looking at me?”
He shakes his head with a grumble as he flicks through a box of individually wrapped dressings.
“Rose, you just let me ink your virgin skin. And I’ve spent hours beside you while your incredible tits are bare. I’m a man on the edge here.”
“You are?”
The muscles across his shoulders ripple beneath his t-shirt, straining against the fabric, before he glances at me over his shoulder. His eyes drop to my nipples before he turns away again. “Hanging over the fucking edge,” he mutters quietly.
I walk over to him and gently slide his t-shirt up his back so that I can press my nipples to his bare skin. Then I wrap my arms around his waist.
“Rose,” he hisses as I drag my hardening nipples over his skin.
“Dax,” I hum back playfully.
